CHAPTER FOUR
DIDN’T THIS MAN SLEEP?
It was almost lunchtime and Gaby hadn’t even scratched the surface of all the tasks her boss had left for her. It didn’t help that the phone rang constantly. Most calls were from reporters wanting to speak with Deacon. She had been left strict instructions to tell them “no comment” and hang up. With business associates, she was left with explaining that Deacon didn’t take phone calls. When she explained that they would have to deal with her, it didn’t go over well. Still, Gaby persisted. She had a job to do.
With a sigh, Gaby pressed Send on an email requesting the script for a film that Deacon was considering backing. But from what she could gather from prior correspondence and the files in the office, he had requested a lot of screenplays, but had yet to back one. She wanted to ask him how he decided which would be worth his money and which wouldn’t.
Gaby got up to place the mail in the allotted slot for Mr. Santoro. When she approached the mail slot, she noticed the connecting door was slightly ajar. She slipped the papers into the slot and then turned back to the door. It beckoned to her.
What would it hurt to go see what was on the other side?
She knew if Mr. Santoro caught her, he would not be happy. In fact, it could very well blow up their whole deal. But if she didn’t take a chance now, would she ever find out what he was hiding?
And to be fair, she was never told that she couldn’t enter the house—only that mail was to go in the slot and communication would be phone or email. She had a hard time believing that he was as bad off as Mrs. Kupps had let on. This place wasn’t exactly a dungeon by any means. He probably was just avoiding all the unanswered questions about the accident. And it was high time he stopped hiding from the truth and faced up to what had happened.
With a renewed determination, Gaby placed her hand on the doorknob and pulled the door open. It moved easily and soundlessly. There were no lights on in the hallway, but a window toward the back of the house let in some sunshine, lighting her way.
She didn’t know what she expected when she crossed the threshold—an enraged Deacon Santoro, or a dark, dank house?—but she found neither. The house was done up in mainly white walls and marble floors. What she did notice was all of the empty spaces on the walls. There were mounted lights as though to illuminate a work of art or a framed photo, but there was nothing below any of the lights, as though even the hangings had been removed. How odd. The oddity was beginning to become a theme where Mr. Santoro was concerned.
The first set of doors she came to had frosted-glass inserts. One door stood ajar. She peered inside, wondering if at last she’d come face-to-face with Deacon Santoro, the larger-than-life legend. But the room appeared to be empty—except for all of the books lining the bookshelves.
Her eyes widened as she took in what must be thousands of titles. She stepped farther into the room, finding the bookcases rose up at least two stories. Like a bee to honey, she was drawn to the remarkable library. There was a ladder that glided along a set of rails to reach the top shelves. And a spiral staircase for the second floor of shelves with yet another ladder. It was truly remarkable.
She didn’t know whether she had walked onto the set of My Fair Lady or the library of Beauty and the Beast. She’d never seen anything so magnificent. She moved to the closest bookshelf and found an entire row of leather-bound classics. It was then that she noticed the thick layer of dust and the sunshine illuminating a spiderweb in the corner. Who would neglect such a marvelous place?
Gaby ignored the dust and lifted a volume from the shelf. She opened the cover to find that it was a first edition—a signed first edition. It was probably priceless or at least worth more than she could ever pay.
And then she realized that if it was so valuable, she shouldn’t be holding it in her bare hands. When she reached out to return it to the shelf, she heard footsteps behind her. She paused, not sure what to do. She moved the book behind her back. The time had come to face Mr. Santoro and suddenly she was assailed with nerves. It probably wouldn’t help her case to be found hiding a collector’s item. Her hand trembled and she almost dropped the book, but with determination, she gently placed it back on the shelf.
She leveled her shoulders, preparing for a hostile confrontation, and turned. The man had just entered the library and caught sight of her at the same time she had spotted him. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, which struck her as odd considering it was warm outside. And then she realized he was the man she spotted the first day that she’d arrived. He was the mysterious man from the rose garden.
“Who—who are you?” She didn’t take her eyes off him.
His dark eyes narrowed. “I’m the one who should be asking questions here.”
The voice, it was familiar. Was it possible that this was Deacon Santoro? She peered closely at him, trying to make up her mind. She supposed that it could be him. But it was his hair that surprised her. It was a longer style, if you could call it a style. The dark strands brushed down over his collar and hung down in his face.
She’d never seen him wear his hair that long in any of the movies he’d played in and yes, she’d seen them all. At one point, she’d have been proud of that fact, but after the accident, she’d wondered what she’d ever seen in the man.
When her gaze returned to his face, she had to tilt her chin upward. He was tall, well north of six feet.
And by the downturn of his mouth, he was not happy to find her in here. Her heart picked up its pace. She should turn away, but she couldn’t. She needed to size up the man—all of him. She swallowed hard and jerked her gaze from his mouth. She really had to get a grip on herself. After all, he was the enemy, not some sexy movie star... Okay maybe he was that, too.
Ugh! This is getting complicated.
Her gaze took in the full, thick beard. It covered a large portion of his face. Between the beard and his longer hair, his face was hidden from view, for the most part. Except for his eyes. Those dark mysterious eyes stared directly at her, but they didn’t give away a thing.
“What are you doing here?” His voice was deep and vibrated with agitation.
“I was looking for you.” She refused to let on that his presence unnerved her. She clasped her hands together to keep from fidgeting. “I thought it was time we met.” She stepped forward and held out her hand. “Hello, Mr. Santoro.”
His eyebrows drew together and he frowned as he gazed at her hand, but he made no move to shake it. “I told you I don’t do face-to-face meetings. And you may call me Deacon.”
Gaby recalled what Mrs. Kupps had said about him preferring formality and was surprised he’d suggest she call him by his given name. Perhaps he wasn’t as stuck in his ways as she’d originally thought.
“And I don’t like to be kept isolated.” Ignoring the quiver of her stomach, Gaby withdrew her hand. “If I am going to work with a person, they need to have the decency to meet with me—to talk one-on-one with me.”
“You’ve seen me. Now go!”
She crossed her arms, refusing to budge. It was time someone called him out on his ridiculous behavior. “Does everyone jump when you growl?”
“I don’t growl.”
She arched a disbelieving eyebrow at him.
“I don’t.” He averted his gaze.
“You might want to be a little nicer to the people who work for you.” And then she decided that pushing him too far would not help her cause, and said, “I have a request that just came in today for you to make an appearance at the upcoming awards show to present an award—”
“No.”
“No? As in you don’t want to attend? Or no, as in you won’t be a presenter?”
“No, as in I’m not leaving this house. And no, I’m not presenting any awards. Have you looked at me? No one would want me in front of a camera.”
The fact that he’d
dismissed the idea so quickly surprised her. For some reason, she thought he would enjoy being in the spotlight. Isn’t that what all movie stars craved?
Deciding it might be best to change the subject, she said, “You have an amazing library.”
At first, he didn’t say a word. She could feel his gaze following her as she made her way around the room, impressed that the books were placed in the Library of Congress classification system. Was it possible Mr. Santoro...erm, Deacon loved books as much as her?
“I see you have your books cataloged.” She turned back to him. “Do you also have a digital catalog?”
He nodded. “The computer that houses the database is over there.”
She followed the line of his finger to a small wooden desk next to the door she’d entered. “This place is amazing. I’ve never known anyone with such an elaborate private library.”
His dark eyebrows rose behind his shaggy hair. “You like books?”
“I love them. I’m a librarian and...” Realizing that she was about to reveal that she was an aspiring journalist would only make him more wary of her.
“And what?”
“I was going to say that I read every chance I get.” She turned back to him. “I take it you read, too.”
He shrugged. “I used to. These days my reading is all work-related.”
“That’s a shame, because books are the key to the imagination. You can travel the world between the pages of a book. Or visit another time period. Anything is possible in a book.”
“What is your favorite genre?”
“I have two—suspense and romance. And cozy mysteries. And some biographies.” She couldn’t help but laugh at herself. “I have a lot of favorites. It depends on my mood.” Perhaps this conversation was her chance to get past his gruff exterior. “How about you?”
“Mysteries and thrillers.” He turned toward the door but paused. Over his shoulder, he said, “You—you may make use of the library while you are here.” Then his voice dropped to the gravelly tone. “But do not wander anywhere else. The rest of the house is off-limits.”
He certainly growled a lot, but she was beginning to think that his growl was much worse than his bite. So far, so good. Now if she could just get him to open up to her, perhaps she could find the answers to the questions that were torturing her father.
But before she could say another word, Deacon strode out the door.
* * *
Why had he gone and done that?
Later that afternoon, Deacon strode back and forth in his office. He never gave anyone access to the house. Even Mrs. Kupps, who had been with him for years, had restricted access. Now, his house was being overrun by women and he didn’t like it.
He’d rather be left alone with his thoughts. His repeated attempts to uncover the truth had been unproductive. He kept coming back to one question: had he been responsible for Gabrielle’s aunt’s death?
As long as Gabrielle stayed in the library and the office, he could deal with her unwelcome presence. If he wanted a book to distract him from reality, he would make his visits late at night, when he was certain that Gabrielle would be asleep.
The thought of having that beauty staying on the estate gave him a funny sensation in his chest. It wasn’t a bad feeling. Instead, it was warm and comforting. Dare he admit it? The sensation was akin to happiness.
It was wrong for him to be excited about Gabrielle’s presence. He didn’t deserve to be happy. But there was something special about her and it went beyond her beauty. She was daring and fun. He admired the way she stood up to him. He could only imagine that she was just as fiery in bed.
In that moment, his imagination took over. The most alluring images of his assistant came to mind. He envisioned Gabrielle with her long coppery hair splayed over the pillow while a mischievous grin played on her lips. With a crooked finger, she beckoned him to join her.
Eagerness pulsed through his veins as he shifted his stance. He’d been alone so long and she was an absolute knockout. He imagined that she could see past his scars and—
Knock. Knock.
Immediately his lips pulled down into a distinct frown. Who was disturbing his most delicious daydream? Wait. Who was in his private area?
Deacon spun around. Heated words hovered at the back of his mouth. And then his gaze landed on Gabrielle. A smile lifted her glossy red lips. Her eyes were lit up like they had been in his fantasy. He blinked and then peered into her eyes once more. Instead of desire, there was uncertainty.
“What are you doing here?” His words came out much gruffer than he’d planned.
“I—I have some correspondence for you to approve, and I have an idea I want to run by you.”
“And for that you marched up here to my private office? You couldn’t have emailed me?”
Her lips lowered into a firm line just as her fine eyebrows drew together. “I didn’t think you were serious about resuming that ridiculous nonsense of emailing each other. I thought now that you’ve granted me access to your home, we could start working together like two professionals instead of being pen pals.”
His prior assistants never would have been so bold. His respect for Gabrielle grew. And that observation caught him off guard. If he wasn’t careful, her tenacity would lead them into trouble. However, she certainly did liven up his otherwise boring existence. Maybe he could risk having his life jostled just a bit.
“Well, you’re here now, so out with it. What’s your idea?” He had to admit that he was curious.
“I’ve been thinking over your concern about your public image. And I know that my father didn’t help with that. But I’ve thought of something that might help—”
“Help?” He was utterly confused. “You want to help me?” When she nodded, he asked, “Why?” He was certain there had to be some sort of catch. There was no way she would want to help the person that was involved in an accident that killed her aunt. No one had that good of a heart.
Gabrielle lifted her chin. “During our first phone conversation, you appeared to be upset with the negative publicity, and I’ve thought of a way to negate some of it.”
Some people may call him a pessimist, but the possibility of countering the bad publicity was definitely too good to be true. There was a catch and he intended to find it. “And what’s in it for you?”
Her eyes widened. “Why does there have to be more?”
“Because you aren’t here out of choice. There is absolutely no reason for you to help me. So out with it. What do you stand to gain?”
She sighed. “Fine. There is something—”
“I knew it.” He felt vindicated in knowing that behind that beautiful face was someone with an agenda. “Well, by all means, don’t keep me in suspense. What do you want in exchange?”
She frowned at him. “Why do you have to make it sound so nefarious?”
“And why are you avoiding the answer?”
“If my idea works, I was hoping you’d see fit to shorten my time here.”
He smiled. “I was right. There is a catch.”
“I just think we can help each other is all. Would you consider sponsoring a fund-raiser?”
A fund-raiser? He had to admit he hadn’t seen that coming. “I am the last person who should be asking people for money.”
Gabrielle shrugged. “I don’t agree. People know who you are. You’re up for a couple of awards for your latest movie release. And you have another movie about to be released. I think you’d be surprised by the public’s support.”
Deacon shook his head. “It’s not going to happen.”
“Consider it your way to put some good back in the world.”
“You mean my penance.”
She shrugged and glanced away. “I suppose you could put it that way.”
There was no penance big enough, generous enoug
h or selfless enough to undo his actions. “No.”
“Because you don’t want to do something good?”
Why did she have to keep pushing the subject? He had to say something—anything—to get her to let go of this idea. And then he thought of something that might strike a chord with her. “Have you looked at me?”
“Yes, I have.” Her gaze was unwavering.
“Then you know that I have no business being seen in public.”
Her gaze narrowed. “I think you’re trying to take the easy way out.”
“Easy?” His hands clenched. “There is nothing easy about any of this. You of all people should know that.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. That didn’t come out the way I meant.”
He wanted to know what she had meant but he decided the subject was best left alone. “I need to get back to work.”
“I think with a haircut and a shave that you’d look...” She stepped closer to him. At last, she uttered softly, “Handsome.”
Too bad he didn’t believe her. There wasn’t a stylish enough haircut to distract people from his scars. And a shave would just make those imperfections obvious. He shook his head. “It isn’t going to happen.”
“What isn’t? The haircut or the shave? Or the fund-raiser?”
“All of them.” Why couldn’t she just leave him alone? It would be better that way.
She crossed her arms and jutted out her chin. “I can do this. And you can participate as much or as little as you want.”
“What do you know about fund-raisers?”
“Enough. I’ve organized one for my library each of the past five years.”
“A library fund-raiser?”
She nodded. “Funds are being withheld from libraries across the country. Lots of them are closing. In order to keep doors open, libraries have become creative in raising money. So many people need and use the resources made available by the library, but the government is of less and less help at keeping the lights on. It’s a real struggle.”
Beauty and Her Boss Page 4
